


A firm grip

by bernieloverstuff



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 04:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10180550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bernieloverstuff/pseuds/bernieloverstuff
Summary: Batman learns Joker's true identity.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is slightly different from my previous fic. It's closer to how Batman and Joker's relationship is in the comics, and it's not like the Lego Batman movie at all. 
> 
> Rating is mature for general sexual themes, although the fic is not explicit.
> 
> Length is one chapter.

"This is fun, isn't it?" Barbara asked cheerfully, well into her second drink. Bruce let out a grunt and swirled some kind of brown, expensive liqueur he hadn't bothered to taste in his glass. He turned towards the door.

"Yeah, this was great. Well, see you around-"

"Nice try!" the redhead laughed, gently grabbing his bicep. "We've been here for 10 minutes! You haven't even mingled!" He made a face at the word mingled, which made her chuckle again. 

"Come on, you promised Alfred," she said, getting a heavy sigh out of the billionaire. People standing near them started to push closer, getting Bruce and Barbara to glance around. The music played by the live orchestra had changed to a dramatic tango. Socialites, press members and philantropists all seemed to press closer to the couple, making room for something. All watching something, craning their necks. Barbara lifted herself on her toes and shifted to the side.

"I think someone's dancing. Maybe some kind of hired entertainment," she said. "Let's try to get closer, I wanna see." Suppressing a sigh, Bruce let his friend gently and politely pull him through the crowd, a few careful feet at a time. The commissioner kept whispering apologies to people around her as they progressed. When Bruce was close enough to have the dancer in his sight, he realized it was two people, not one. They were so in sync, right in the tender, gentle part of the dance, that he had assumed it was just one person. 

They were magnificent. He was wearing a black suit and her a red dress. He led her with intention and quiet grace, never breaking eye contact. She was like liquid against him, bending and yielding with practice of years. They had to be professionals. Bruce heard Barbara gasp softly.

"It's James Napier!" She cleared her throat awkwardly.

"I mean, I'm not a fan of the guy but he can dance," she added quickly. Bruce's brown furrowed; the name sounded vaguely familiar. Then he remembered the glimpses he had seen of the man, in the society or gossip pages of the news paper. He remembered a solemn, serious, light-haired man of an age hard to discern, always posing next to a blonde woman. He would often have a very small, insincere, closed-lipped smile on his face, while she beamed openly and victoriously into the camera. A billionaire who had moved to Gotham a few months ago, he had been involved with charities and generally showing up at every shindig Alfred always failed to pressure Bruce to attend. 

And now they were dancing, still gently, having the entire room of a hundred elite at rapt attention. 

"See? I told you it was worth showing up. Aren't you glad you came?" Barbara whispered, enjoying the sight just as much as everyone else in the room. Bruce shrugged absentmindedly, unable to take his eyes off the man. But then the instruments halted and jerked into a dramatic, dark part of the song, and the movements changed. Napier lunged down with a sudden force, and Bruce felt his hands ball into fists. He felt his entire body grow tight as a spring-coil, watching the man slide and launch like a big cat. They twisted and turned with abrupt, quick motions, pulling apart one second and suddenly pressing against each other again.

Bruce felt his tense weight shift quickly with their rhythm, feeling the hair stand up on his neck. Their dance was like a fight now, and he couldn't help himself. Something was off. Something was very wrong, but he had no idea what. It was ringing loudly, blurring the music out. He felt nervous, alert, too aware of the room and the man moving in front of him. Had he never really seen Napier before? Had he never seen the man move? He had to. He knew it. His reason knew he had never met the man but his body was screaming. 

The song halted like a punch, and so did the couple. The room erupted in loud cheers, and the dancers bowed theatrically. Bruce turned around and put his slightly uneven hand on Barbara's shoulder. When he heard himself speak, his voice was too hoarse.

"Let's go to the balcony for a minute, it's really stuffy in here," he muttered. Hearing her agreeing, he started to feel an urgency to push through the crowd. He wanted to mow over all the people in front of him; he had to get out now. He felt like he did when he had nightmares as a child; feeling something quietly approaching you behind your back, unable to see it, the panic rising in you. He felt too visible, far taller than the people around him, unable to hide. 

"Bruce Wayne?" The voice was soft and raspy, with a slight lilt to it. Bruce halted like a brick, unable to take a step. A cold tremble running down his spine, his nails dug even deeper into the flesh of his palms. When he turned around, his feet felt heavy and sluggish, like being pulled through swamp. The man was approaching him with a slow, feline gait, lifting his long, slender hands up into a clasp. Bruce bit his lower lip, trying not to look the man in the face. Why was he like this? What was wrong with him?

"Bruce Wayne. I have been looking forward to meeting you for ages!" The soft voice was full of excitement. "I'm James Napier. Huge fan. The biggest." Bruce saw a hand appear in front of his down-cast gaze, and before he knew it, he had reached out to shake it instinctively. Their palms touched, fingers wrapping around, and he felt dizzy. He knew this hand. It was slightly different, naked, but he knew it. He knew this grip. His gaze left the long, elegant fingers and traveled up, halting at the mouth. He watched with quiet awe as the lips opened and stretched out, revealing a long line of teeth. Those teeth. Those over-sized incisors. That smile. He had woken up many nights to that smile in his head.

It was him.

It was Joker. 

Bruce felt his chest expand slowly, painfully, willing himself to keep his surface calm, and gave himself a few seconds to really look at the naked face of his nemesis. 

He wasn't sure if it was naked; it may have had some very natural, undetectable makeup to soften the cheek scars and warm up the cold skin tone a bit. Bruce stared at Joker's narrow, elfish face, his eyes without the black smudge around them, the lips without the bright red. He was not handsome in a traditional, conventional sense. He was rather like a character actor, one of those artists that you thought nothing of in the beginning, thinking them odd-looking. But as you saw more of them over the years, saw their face emoting, saw the talent in them, the sheer force and intelligence in their dark, glinting eyes, their face would start shifting in front of your eyes. A face you would grow to love over the years.

Bruce jerked abruptly, feeling his entire face heat up. He bit his lip, trying to calm himself down. He had to stop thinking like this. Joker stopped smiling like a clock, and tilted his head very slightly, his eyes going over Bruce's face. Wayne felt the green eyes trail his jawline, slowly, studiously. Too slowly. He was getting more and more nervous. The gaze halted at his mouth, which made him bite his lip again. Their mouths had touched once, over three months ago. Batman had punched Joker's mouth so hard his knuckles had felt a crunch. 

Joker's eyebrows rose slowly, his lips parting and his eyes meeting Bruce's, full of urgency. His pupils dilated, and Bruce felt the room spinning. His ears were crashing with white noise.

Joker knew.

He knew.

"Mister Wayne," Joker whispered with slow delight, almost in awe. "May I call you Bruce, or would that be too forward?" Bruce worked his dry throat, lifting the glass to his lips and tilting it. It was empty. He was sure it had been full. Joker bit his lip, glancing at the glass with a small smile.

"Bat got your tongue?" he purred. Bruce wanted to send his fist flying, smashing into that face, send the man flying across the room. But he couldn't. All he could do was stand here and have Joker taunt him. 

"There you are, Puddin!" came the sing-song voice behind Joker. Bruce clenched his teeth; Harley. The blonde woman draped her hand affectionately over Joker's shoulder, leaning against his frame. She looked up at Bruce and her eyes widened.

"Oooh, Bruce Wayne!" she cooed. "You're even more handsome in person!" Joker leaned closer to her and wiggled his brows.

"I was just thinking the same, sweetie," he murmured, making her burst into giggles. Bruce knew his mouth was a grim, tight line, knew that he should be smiling, being normal and pleasant. Too much rudeness would draw attention, and they had plenty of eyes on them. He just couldn't bring himself to. These two were taunting the elite of the entire city, dancing and flashing their charm in front of them in the evenings, and robbing them and blowing up their property at night. The nerve. The sheer, naked, vulgar nerve. And now Joker knew who he was. The maniac clown wet his lips and focused his full attention on Bruce.

"I was hoping to run into you eventually, Mister Wayne," he said. "It's such a rare treat to catch you out and about! I considered having my people contact your people, but I guess I'm too shy..." Harley sighed with delight and ran the back of her fingers softly down Joker's scarred cheek. 

"It's ok Puddin, shy guys are cute," she reassured, making him chuckle, and then she was giggling, and they fed off each other like teenagers and became slightly hysterical. Bruce grit his teeth, entertaining himself by imagining punching his fist into their faces, over and over again. It calmed him a bit. Joker took a deep sigh and straightened up, smoothing his tie out. Bruce was moving before the man even managed to get one word out.

"I was just thinking that we should-" he started to Bruce's distancing back, his voice getting slightly tense as the billionaire moved away from him more rapidly.

"That we should-"

"Have your people contact my people," Wayne spat out lowly, no intention of talking to James Napier ever again. He walked out briskly, feeling that very familiar sense of having Joker's eyes on his back. Usually he felt this way while walking out of Arkham. Now he was walking out of what was supposed to be his space. His own, private space. His world.

~~~

Bruce shot up, his vision black; cold, damp sheets clinging to his buzzing skin. Blood was pounding in his ears. Listening to his own heavy breathing, he took in the dark room and sensed there was no danger. It had been his dream again. This had been his nights for the past two months; waking up with a jerk, not remembering for a second if this was all really happening or not, before he realized it was. Joker was getting closer, and there was nowhere he could go, no room to move. The villain had been creeping on him slowly and steadily for the past few months. There was that first time at the ball where they met. Then there was that one meeting he had to attend, and James Napier had been there. Nobody had told him about that. That wide, insane grin, shining at him from across the room. It happened more and more. He would go places as Bruce Wayne and Napier would always be there, inexplicably, always theatrically shocked to see him. Always trying to start discussions of doing business together. He always managed to escape.

And then the papers. One morning he opened Gotham Times, and there it was, on the society pages. A profile of Jack Napier, gazing thoughtfully out the window in a black-and-white photograph, his vulpine silhouette against the light of the morning city. A long, long interview next to the photo. He skimmed it quickly, nervously, his hands slowly softening as he progressed. It was a typical fluff piece, full of shit and light on actual information. The type of piece papers loved. But then he got to the last paragraph, and his grip almost tore through the pages. He saw his own name. Napier apparently chuckled lowly (the writer of the piece very clearly was young, inexperienced and smitten with her subject) when asked about what his plans were at the moment and if he was working on anything exciting right now. 'I'm actually deep into negotiations with Bruce Wayne, we're working on a pretty big charity project together. Stay tuned!'

And then the phone started ringing, more often than usual. Reporters wanting to know what the "Wayne-Napier Project" was, and maybe he could just drop at least a little hint? Napier was so secretive about it? Bruce exhaled loudly, running his hands hard over his face, dropping back into his cold, damp pillows with a thud. He was in a corner that was getting smaller and smaller. Joker was still fighting him at night, showing no sign of knowing who he was. He was exactly like he'd always been. Nothing had changed about their nightly interactions, and yet... He knew Joker knew. The mad man was playing a game, and if the intention was to ruin Bruce's brain, he was winning. Wayne groaned, turning on his side. What did Joker want? Why was he doing this? Should he ask? He couldn't do that without exposing himself. 

~~~

Bruce took a deep breath, the cold night air spiking his lungs sharply. The muffled music of the ballroom behind his back mixing with the traffic noises 30 floors below him in the streets. His hands wrapped around the chilly iron rail of the balcony, he let his eyes wander over the lights of night-time Gotham, wishing he didn't have to return back inside. It was a fundraising event for the orphanage; he had to be there. Didn't make being in that room any more tolerable. He closed his eyes, trying to empty his head, feeling a light, cool breeze on his face. 

"Such a boring night, isn't it?" Bruce's eyes snapped open at the raspy voice, his grip clamping around the rail. His senses located the voice eight feet behind him, three feet to the left, next to the door of the balcony. As the voice continued to speak, he let go off the rail and smoothly, calmly took two steps back, turning around.

"Not as boring now that I've seen y-" Joker's words were cut off by an iron grip around his throat, closing in the second Bruce's frame was out of sight of the glass doors. The whole movement of turning from the rail towards the clown, pushing him into the alcove next to the doors and gripping his neck against the wall had taken two seconds. 

"What. Do. You. WANT?" Batman's voice asked, his hand shaking with rage, clamping tighter around the slender neck. Joker's eyes widened, his lips falling slack, the pale skin darkening in the moonlight. Batman knew that look. He felt Joker's breath on his mouth, they were so close.

"Just wanted to spend some more quality time with you, Batsy," he whispered, his chuckle wheezing out breathlessly as the grip tightened around his larynx. His grin didn't halter, though; it somehow always widened the tighter Batman squeezed him. Batman growled violently, pressing his 6'2, 210 lbs frame into the man, flat against the cold wall, encasing him like hulking barrier of pent-up force. He brought his face closer, an inch away from his nemesis, hissing through gritted teeth, specks of spit hitting Joker's face.

"WHAT. DO. YOU. WANT?!" He felt the body against him tremble, Joker's breath sped up, his face flushed, like it always was when they were this close. 

"I told you," he whispered, wetting his lips. "I just want to see you more-"

"I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!" Batman hissed hoarsely, shaking against the tight, warm body he had trapped. Joker stared at him, pupils widening, his face open and naked.

"I would like that very much," he panted, and Batman could tell he was sincere. He had to look away; he couldn't take Joker like this. The death comment didn't bother him; it was the sheer, feverish yearning that was too much. Joker would do anything for his attention. And he would be so shameless and open about it during seconds like these. Batman was pressed against a man who was utterly, fully alive at this moment, trembling very softly against him, his breath warm against Batman's jawline. The vigilante worked to swallow, his throat dry.

He would never kill this man.

"You need to stop what you're doing," Batman said lowly, glancing quickly through the glass doors, making sure nobody had seen them. "James Napier has to leave Gotham." He turned to look at the man trapped against him, their heaving chests rising and sinking together, too quickly. Joker stared at Batman's face, his eyes roaming all over it, painfully hungry. 

"On one condition," he whispered, and Batman could feel his face twist into a snarl, lurching forward, jamming his thigh between Jokers', hard against the wall. 

"You don't give me conditions, Joker," he whispered hoarsely, his left hand gripped tight around his nemeses' wrist. "What do you want?!" he spat out, nevertheless. Joker's eyes glazed over with something that made Batman twitch, hard. The clown bit his lip, eyes on Batman's angry, small mouth. He looked up into Batman's cold eyes.

"He will go away and not come back," he murmured, "If you spend a night with me, Batsy." Batman crashed his full weight against the slim man, shaking with rage, so hard. He was so, so hard. 

"You think this is funny?!" he spat out, breathless. Joker's breath had sped up, fogging up the cold air between them, their breath flying in and out, in and out of each others mouths. The criminal's erection pressed hard against the vigilante's, ever so slightly grinding up, then down. Up, then down. Batman's hands were shaking against the concrete around Joker's head. His entire body was heated, throbbing. He had never been wanted like this. He had never wanted like this. Joker had closed his eyes, head leaned back against the wall, his Adam's apple sliding up. His chest heaving, he swallowed.

"I'm not joking, Batsy." He didn't need to say it. Batman already knew. He closed his eyes, teeth sinking into his lower lip, taking deep breaths. He had to think. He had to get it together. He had to-

Warm lips brushed against his and he jerked away with a twitch, turning his face to the side.

"Let me think!" he hissed instinctively. The lips brushed the side of his mouth, and Batman felt his cheeks heat up. He saw it from the corner of his eye, even in the dark. He saw it on Joker's face. The pale lips pressed against his jawline softly, making Batman's dick twitch. His tongue felt thick, dry like sand. A hot mouth latched onto the curve of his chin, kissing the rough stubble. If Joker could not get his lips, he would kiss the rest of his face. Batman closed his eyes, his breathing rough. Then the wet breath on his stubble was too much, and he turned and lunged. 

He sunk.

He felt Joker melt into the wall, into him, around him, his taste and scent everywhere. He couldn't hear anything but rushing blood, breathing hard through his nose in the cold air as his enemy's mouth opened wider and took him deeper. Long, slender, trembling fingers slid into his hair, nervously. The skin of his face was buzzing, warm, like one giant nerve-ending sliding against Joker's. The criminal gulped deep, quick breaths with his mouth between kisses, and Batman found himself pushing harder into him, against him, inside him. His tongue slid over those large incisors, the scars inside the cheeks, and he heard Joker let out a soft whimper. 

He was never going to kill this man.

He broke off, breathing hard, eyes shut tightly, his face and mouth suddenly slapped with the cold night air. The mingling of their loud, hot breaths, the whine Joker let out, it was almost too much. The grip was too tight.

"Let go of me," he panted hoarsely, trying to listen to the door, listen if someone was coming. He heard the clown swallow and make a very small, delighted sound.

"I'm not holding on, Batsy," he panted. Batman's eyes opened and he looked down. His hands were gripped around Joker's shoulders, pressed hard against the wall, Joker's arms limp on the sides.


End file.
